


The Weight of Gentleness

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Soft Uther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: The boy swings at Uther, wild and careless and free in a way Uther has never felt. It irks him, seeps under his skin and makes his own swings slow and heavy. Not once does he manage to strike the boy, not once does he land a bruising blow. The boy stares at him hard and weighted. “Sire. You should have already had me on my back.”





	The Weight of Gentleness

He is soft and gentle. Kind. He is a breath of fresh air in a room with no wind. He is something the king wants, nothing he should desire, and everything he could take, if he so chose. He doesn’t though. Doesn’t lay his claim the way he wants to, the way he could.

He is kind. Runs his fingers over round cheeks and through soft curls. After all, he is no king yet. Plus, what kind of king would he be, to steal affection that way? He doesn’t want to demand love from this gentle boy. He wants, in a way he has never desired anything, to earn love from this child.

As if he himself is not still a boy. As if the first hairs still refuse to grace his chin, his chest. Still, he is cautious when the boy picks up a sword. This is the princess private training time. Being on this field, during this time, it is risky. Everyone knows it. Uther is not prone to good moods, knows he is volatile in his anger and slow in his forgiveness. He’s crippled men who dared walk through this area.

Yet this boy, standing just below Uther’s chin stares at him, defiant and proud. Uther is prepared to yell, to scream his rage and then the boy smiles. Dips low and bows, holds it until Uther whispers. “Rise.”

There is a strange gleam in his blue eyes. Blue, Uther thinks, like frozen berries baked into pastries. Or perhaps, the sky right before the sun breaks the night. He aches with a need he has never experienced before; one that feels wrong and right and forbidden and all at once.

“Well, go on. Pick up the sword.” God, but the boy is so young, with his gapped tooth smile. Still, wiry arms pick up the sword and give it a testing swirl. Uther frowns, wonders if he should correct the form, correct the motion. This boy is not a knight though, not under Uther’s command yet. Perhaps one day, when Uther takes charge of that sacred group of men.

Perhaps when Uther can claim what he desires.

The boy swings at Uther, wild and careless and free in a way Uther has never felt. It irks him, seeps under his skin and makes his own swings slow and heavy. Not once does he manage to strike the boy, not once does he land a bruising blow. The boy stares at him hard and weighted. “Sire. You should have already had me on my back.”

Uther doesn’t mean to hesitate, doesn’t intend to let the boy land a hard smack into his abdomen. He hates that he is winded; needs to know if the boy understands what he has said.

“Who are you?”

The boy squares his shoulders and prepares to defy his king. His prince. “I am Leon. First born of the house of Leodegrance.” He stumbles over the name, like the word is too big for his mouth. Like it is too big for his shoulders.

Uther raises his brows. “I was unaware they had a son.”

The boy flinches, his cheeks shining as red as his hair. “And yet, here I stand.”

Uther eyes him warily. “You seem a little older than their marriage, Leon of the house of Leodegrance.”

The boy is so beautiful when he turns red. Uther wonders how many ways he can make the boy flush.

“You can’t prove anything, Sire. I am the son of Lord and Lady Leodegrance. The claim me by name.”

Uther leans in, smirks when the blood rushes once more. “Neither of them have been blessed with red hair?”

The boy snarls and clenches his fist. “It’ll darken, sire. My mother’s hair glowed like the sun when she was born too.”

Uther laughs, and he isn’t sure why, but something in him lightens. “Well, Leon of the Leodegrances, perhaps I will see you around.”

“Leaving so soon?” The boy snatches his sword to his chest, like Uther might take it from him once more, like many have snatched it away from him.

“Your prince has many duties to attend to.”

There is something serious in his eyes when he answers, shoulders dipped in the smallest of bows. “My king, Sire.”

He says it so softly, so gently, it wraps itself warm and soft around Uther's shoulders, like a blanket left in his childhood and only recently found once more.

 


End file.
